Lineage: Cassius Cordwainer
by Zutche
Summary: A year before the Oblivion Crisis that shook the very foundation of the Empire, the son of a simple leather worker decides to leave his craft to trace his lineage. In search of his own family, Cassius Cordwainer discovers there is more to himself than a simple, mundane leather worker. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.
1. Chapter 1

It is the Four Hundred and Thirty Second year of the Third Era. My name is Cassius Cordwainer and I was born in the Four Hundred and Thirteenth year of the Third Era inside the opulent walls of the Imperial City. Blessed am I to be an Imperial in my homeland of Cyrodiil under rule of Emperor Uriel Septim VII. I am a leather worker working under my father Julian Cordwainer, much like he did with his father, and his father's father, and so on for generations. Since I was a boy I have worked with a needle and thread inside my father's shop repairing shoes, stitching cloth and canvas, and even measuring weapons to make sheaths. It is honest work with honest pay- I have been told this by my father and my grandfather.

I cannot lie, I am happy with my life. I have Septims in my purse, food in my belly, and a roof over my head. But one thing has always bothered me. Twas not but a few winters old when my mother left us. Her name is Arianna Cordwainer, a proud Imperial as well, and according to my father she is an adventurer. She was not contempt with living inside grand walls, and though she was aging she still held on to her spirit and sword arm. My father says she has "the spirit of the dragon", and she always yearned for adventure. My father met her in their youth, around my age of nineteen, outside the Imperial City around the Great Forest whilst on a hunt with my grandfather. She was struck in the shoulder by a poisoned arrow, and my father and grandfather brought her back to our shop and home and nursed her back to health. After months of treating her, my father fell in love with my mother, and my mother fell for my father. When she was fully recovered my father married her and had me.

I will never understand why she left, and all my father will say is "she just couldn't be tamed". Even though I do not know her, I still feel as if though a part of me is missing inside my heart and sometimes I catch myself day dreaming of what she looks like and what would it be like if she still lived with us.

This is not a biography about my mother nor my father, so I shall be quite frank: my father, Julian Cordwainer, has recently passed away leaving me with no family. He died a few nights ago of a terrible fever. Friends of my father, my few friends, and business associates attended the funeral at my family's crypt just west of the Imperial City. I never knew the pain of losing my mother but I quickly learned the pain of losing my father. He was, in all his being, a great man. He donated to the Temple of the One, helped feed our neighbors, and was a teacher and mentor to me. He took me on my first hunt. He taught me how to defend myself with a blade. He taught me how to be the man I am today.

Of course it is expected of me to continue my father's business. I see no qualms with it, as I believe I can make a good life by working with leather. But would it be a great life? I spent many hours contemplating my life within the confines of my quarters. I am young, and I hope to live long and content. But what good would life be if I didn't have answers? What if I stayed ignorant all my life of the world beyond leather working?

The folly of my father was when he brought me to the Arena for the first time. He thought it would be a good lesson on life and death and how life is a gamble and you must be smart. But what I took in was the thrill of life and the heat of action. My father and I eventually became monthly spectators to the Arena, and I fell in love with the romanticism of fighting to the death for glory and for wealth. Eventually the other neighborhood children and I would host mock fights against one another, using sticks as swords. My father even let us use scrap twine and leather to make makeshift armor to cushion the blows of each other going at it for hours. Even though I was a child then, I still remember the how good it felt to pretend to be a hero. So now in mourning my father's passing I have decided to pretend once more.


	2. Chapter 1 Part II

I sat down and made a list of what all I would need for an adventure:

\- arms and armor

\- a rucksack

\- a map and compass

\- my notebook (currently writing in)

\- writing utensils

\- camping gear

\- food rations

\- torches

\- flint and steel

The armor and rucksack was easy; my father made some damn fine armor before he passed. With some reworking I made a comfortable fit for myself. I've never worn armor before, but it was an interesting feeling. It felt right in an odd way, and it felt natural. Maybe my mother left some part of her spirit in me? My father also made rucksacks for travelers coming and going through the Imperial City, so I just chose one that was large but not too bulky in its weight and size.

The arms was a little harder for me. In my father's quarters he kept a steel long-sword by his bedside. Apparently it was a gift from his father to help protect the shop. My father was never much of a fighter, but he did show me a thing or two about footing and arm work. It was difficult for me to enter his quarters. I felt sorrowful just standing by the door. And when I was inside I was ill in my stomach. It looked the same way as if though my father was still here. A disorganized bookshelf, a desk covered in various paperwork, and the bed he passed away in. The sword was leaning against the wall in its scabbard next to the bed, and I felt cold as my hand approached the hilt. I thought maybe it was my father telling me to give up this foolish dream and just go to bed. But in my gut I felt a fire, like a bonfire set ablaze in a warm summer night. I figured this was the part of my mother in me telling me to take it and find her. I listened to my gut and took in hand the sword and scabbard. I unsheathed the blade, dropping the fine sheathe on the wooden floor. The sword itself was heavier than I remembered it being, but it was still as beautiful as the first day I laid my eyes on it. With some practice swings in the air and a few thrusts, I remembered my footwork like I was taught yesterday and I dueled the ghost of my fear with such ferocity it was as if though I have been fighting all my life. I sheathed the sword and put it around my waist, the fine leather armor coming with a thick belt to hold the blade steady at my hip.

Everything else was easy to find in the marketplace. It was saddening when every shop I entered began by telling me how sorry they where for my lost. Even saddening was their response to the objects of my request.

"Fighting off brigands?" asked one merchant.

"No sir, just trying to do good in my own life" was my reply.

I was over looking the map I purchased and started pondering about where to start. My father said he met my mother in the Great Forest to the west, and I remember faintly him saying something about her and the Fighter's Guild. To the west of here lies the city of Chorol, so my best bet would be to inquire with the Fighter's Guild there. However, I realized an imposing fact in regards to my quest: I would be alone. It was roughly a week's walk from the Imperial City to Chorol, and I'm not so sure I could survive the lonesomeness. Not now at least. But I didn't want to spend money on some sell-sword. Nay, if I was to travel I would want someone I could trust with my life to come with me. Someone who knows me, and who can bring something to the table I couldn't. As the candle by my desk burned down one name came to mind: Oleander Alium.


End file.
